“Mis-ter Br-o-o-k-er! Li-i-z-zee-e-e! Come ter yer tea-e-e!” yelled a boy from the house.
“We must really go now.”
“Oh, they can wait a minute. Lizzie, don’t be frightened”—bending his head—“Lizzie, put your arms round my neck and kiss me—now. Do as I tell you, Lizzie—they cannot see us,” and he drew her behind a bush. “Now, Lizzie.”
She obeyed just as a frightened child might.
“We must go now,” she panted, breathless from such an embrace.
“Lizzie, you will come for a walk with me after tea?”
“I don’t know—I can’t promise. I don’t think it would be right. Aunt mightn’t like me to.”
“Never mind aunt. I’ll fix her. We’ll go for a walk over to the school-teacher’s place. It will be bright moonlight.”
“I don’t like to promise. My father and mother might not—”
“Why, what are you frightened of? What harm is there in it?” Then, softly, “Promise, Lizzie.”